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Moving was so Much WORK!
Generico sat on the floor of his new apartment.
The carpeted floor.
With carpet that wasn’t all the wrong colors in all the wrong spots.
Nice, soft carpet that felt good on his legs and not itchy and crusty at all.
His new apartment was so WONDERFUL!
No more broken appliances or horrible smells. No more holes in the wall or worn, warped sections of paneling. No more horrid, crooked landlords who were ready to throw you out if you dared asked him to repair a leaky faucet. No more worrying if he would get broken into at night or… something worse… before he even got home.
No more fear.
No more worry.
He was safe. At home.
For the first time since…
Generico dug into the box he was going through.
There was so much to unpack!
The boxes were annoying. So many of them! But at least the furniture had been easy. They’d gotten lucky and it wasn’t snowy, despite it being the middle of November, which was nice. They didn’t even use Carla’s truck, they’d had enough time to save the money to pay for movers. Better than making his Abuela strain her back or potentially twist an ankle.
She was getting… older.
She wasn’t moving as fast anymore. It wasn’t a huge difference, she was still amazing. Still strong, still kind, still beautiful, still so incredible of a woman that Generico knew she wasn’t close to stopping.
But, he could tell.
The way additional lines were forming around her eyes.
The way her tanned skin didn’t have quite the same glow to it that it did before.
The way she would sometimes stop and lean on a wall or hold her side in pain when she thought he couldn’t see.
He’d seen it before.
He knew exactly what someone wearing their body into the ground looked like.
It was how he’d lost his Mamá.
Frankly, it was what he also saw happening to Kevin every day as well. The way Kevin would stumble slightly and have to steady himself as his knee gave out yet again. The pain on his face when he tried to change directions too quickly or if he took a harder-than-normal slam in the ring.
Bodies were frail, feeble things.
Parts like backs. Like knees.
Like shoulders.
Generico rolled his shoulder slightly as he pulled the next treasure from the box.
It was a photograph, in a frame.
The beautiful, still glowing face smiling at him despite the weathered nature of the photo.
His Mamá.
He missed her so much.
Her voice, her smile, her… everything.
His fingers brushed against the frame almost without his meaning to…
… and he let out a yelp of pain as his finger was cut on the glass.
He shoved it in his mouth, the taste of copper tingling his tongue as he quickly got to his feet and headed to the bathroom.
It was just a small cut.
Easily fixed with a bit of antiseptic and a Band-Aid.
But, when he returned to his living room and examined the picture frame, his heart sank.
There, in the corner, was a hairline crack.
He hadn’t even seen it at first, but no, it was there, undeniable.
And unfixable.
He let out a sad sigh. It would have to be repl…
He stopped, jolting at the thought.
“Kevin…” he whispered aloud, putting the frame back on the carpet and quickly moving to the pile of boxes. It was there, somewhere, he knew it was he just had to…
His eyes stopped on the correct box, the words “New Stuff” written in two different languages on the side.
It only took a moment to take it to his dining table to open.
And, there.
A smile crossed Generico’s face as he held the new picture frame Kevin had bought him right before the move.
He’d said it was a housewarming gift. In case he “ever had use for it”.
Generico couldn’t be mad.
It was just Kevin being Kevin.
He gently set it on the table and, moving to the other room, retrieved the old frame.
Sure enough, they were the exact same size.
Almost the exact same style too. Or maybe they were, once. The old one had just lost its shine and details along the way.
It was… nice.
A new frame for a new place.
A new life.
A new safety.
His heart felt like it was fluttering and, making sure not to cut himself or break it further, Generico turned the frame over to carefully slide the back open.
He was expecting to find his Mamá’s photo inside. That much was obvious.
What was greeting him instead was… paper?
“What…” he whispered, pulling the scrap of paper from inside the frame.
It was folded and stained, with ragged edges like it had been torn from something.
And, unfolding it, he was slammed with the memory of what it was.
Words
Words are hard
They shouldn’t be They weren’t before
But now pain
Why do the words hurt
Generico felt his heart crawl into his throat as he stared at his younger self’s handwriting.
He remembered.
He remembered.
He remembered.
Words
Words are hard
They shouldn’t be They weren’t before
But now pain
Why do the words hurt
Why WHO cut the string And let them fly away Why won’t they come back
I don’t understand
They’re just words
¡WORDS!
Why do they hurt
Why does everything hurt
Why did everything fly away
Mamá Papá
How could they leave us
It hurts so much
And
Generico stared at the discarded paper bag he’d been writing on, unsure of what to write next.
The bag had held a wonderful treasure, along with two more to match.
Food.
So much food!
Tamales, taquitos, rice, beans, and so many bottles of pure, clean water that, in a way, were the best gift of all.
Funny, he’d never loved water before it was hard to come by. He’d always just trusted it would be there.
Like… other things would be there.
Like other people would be.
He hadn't eaten much.
He hurt too bad.
It was almost Christmas and everything felt wrong.
The bag had uses, though, like giving him something to scribble on with the pen he’d gotten from the bank.
“Maybe you should journal,” Miguel had said between bites of rice. “If you can’t talk, maybe write your feelings.”
He certainly couldn’t talk, that much was true. He hadn’t been able to do much more than make noises for months.
Ever since…
But as Generico looked over the half-formed thoughts and sentences that he’d managed to get out, he sighed in resignation.
Words were bad.
And they probably never would work for him again.
It was so STUPID! Words weren’t supposed to fly away! Once you learned them, you were supposed to keep them! But, no, he would never talk again, he just knew it. Sure, he didn’t have to tell his story, that was how it all began, but he could never again tell Miguel how smart he was. Could never thank Rosa for how wonderful and caring she was. Could never again tease the oldest twins back when they called him Chica Mimi.
He could never again speak anyone’s name.
Important names.
Names like Marietta.
Like Santiago.
Like Vivi.
He stared down at the written words, “las palabras”, once more and grunted.
“Prrrbrrs,” he muttered and then stopped.
That…
Had almost come out intact.
He blinked a few times, looking at the writing once more, and, focusing hard, didn’t speak.
He read.
“Plaaabaaazz”
He was getting closer.
He stared at the word, almost as if he could somehow burn it into his brain through his eyes, and tried one more time.
“Paaaa… laaa… braas. Palabras.”
Generico’s newfound voice caught in his chest.
It wasn’t talking. Not really.
But he had *spoken*.
He had to try something. Maybe, maybe if he could just…
Nodding at his decision, Generico tore a fresh section from the paper bag and, writing on it, got up from where he was sitting and headed to the nearby park table.
“Hi!” Maríe said with a broad smile, holding out the uneaten half of her tamale, “Hungry?”
Generico just shook his head. The food was for his siblings really, he could easily…
“Here,” Rosa said, interrupting his train of thought with a fresh tamale on a paper plate, “Emilio brought enough for all of us. He’ll be mad if you show up tomorrow still hungry.”
Generico nodded. Rosa, always watching out for him. So kind and caring.
She would make an amazing mamá someday.
“What’s that?” Maríe asked, motioning to the scrap of paper Generico had written on.
Generico smiled and, pushing the paper to Rosa, gestured to the entire family that was scattered around the park.
Rosa, thankfully, understood.
Wordlessly, she moved quickly, going around and gathering all of his siblings and bringing them back. As she did, Vivi, his beautiful baby sister, came rushing over, reaching her arms up to be held.
Generico would never deny her.
Swiftly, yet carefully, he lifted her, setting her on his knee and holding her safe.
“Mimi…” she cooed, before chewing on the taquito she was still holding.
Generico’s heart buzzed, especially when Vivi held the taquito out a moment later with eyes impossibly generous for her age. Generico smiled, making a show of taking the smallest bite he could before Vivi continued eating it herself.
He loved his Vivi.
He just wished he could tell her again.
But, maybe if his plan worked, he would.
“What’s up, Chica Mimi?” Michal teased upon reaching the table, “It better be important.”
“Yeah, we were busy,” Tomás added.
“REAL busy.”
“REALLY REALLY busy.”
Rosa rolled her eyes, leaning to whisper into Generico’s ear.
“They’re scouting the outdoor racks again,” she said, gesturing her head towards the bodega across the street, “they just put out a fresh basket of limes.”
Generico smiled.
Limes were always a treat.
He couldn’t wait to get some.
“Everyone!” Rosa said loudly, getting the family’s attention. “I think our wonderful brother has something to show us.”
“Better be important,” Michal grumbled, “I want some limes.”
Generico smiled as Michal was promptly elbowed in the ribs by his twin brother.
He nodded and, with a deep breath in, focused everything he could. He could do it, he knew he could, he just needed to read what he had written.
Reading was easier than talking. It was like following instructions, even if they were his own.
He closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the kindest, most loving smile anyone could ever have. The light in his soul, stolen from him a year earlier, but forever living in his heart.
And when he opened them again, he let out the breath, and read the page.
“I… love you.” He read, the words so foreign after so long, “This is… hard. But. We will survive.”
His throat tickled from disused vocal cords waking up.
“We… will… stay. Together. Always.”
It was working, the words were really working, it was amazing… he just had to…
He smiled as he got to the last part.
“Merry Christmas.”
A weight so heavy it would put a hundred of Miguel’s book bags to shame lifted from his shoulders.
He’d gotten it right.
After so long, the words had come once more…
…… and the sounds had gone away.
Generico looked around at the open mouths of his siblings, each one registering a different emotion of shock and wonder.
And, after several long, lingering moments, it was Joseph, one of the youngest who spoke up.
“Olivia likes your voice,” Joseph said quietly.
Generico stopped, suddenly noticing the huge, wet eyes his baby sister was gazing at him with.
One word.
He just needed one more word…
“Vivi…” he whispered, the breathed name all the more he had left to give.
It was more than enough.
“MIMI!!!” his sister shouted throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.
He held her close.
Words were hard.
But if you got them right, they were amazing.
Miguel, though, had a different response, his words always coming so easily.
“It’s nice hearing you talk again,” he said, “I’ve missed it.”
“We all have!” Tomás chirped up, recovering from his own shock.
“Yeah!” Michal added, “What he said!”
Generico’s smile turned warm.
He loved his family so much.
“All right,” Rosa said, gesturing at the tamale in front of him, “Time for you to eat. Here, we saved you some sauce.”
His eyes went wide as Rosa presented him with the container of mole. There was still plenty left to dip the tamale in.
Generico looked at his oldest sister, then around to his family, then to the messy red curls still lying against his shoulder, and then back to his sister with as much gratitude as he could express.
“You’re welcome,” Rosa said, understanding him once more, “And Merry Christmas.”
Generico’s heart felt light as a charm for the first time since… and, dipping the still-warm tamale in the sauce, took a big bite.
Vivi cooed in his embrace and he smiled, holding the tamale out to her. Carefully, she sniffed it, before taking a small bite, making a face, then nuzzling back into his neck.
Generico couldn’t help but laugh.
There would be time yet for her to learn to eat tamales. She had her whole life ahead of her. He’d find a way to make it work. Emilio had gotten him a job washing dishes at the restaurant he worked at. He'd only gotten paid a few times so far, but the boss had promised to give him some extra money the following day before the restaurant closed for the holiday. Christmas was three days away. Emilio had given him an early feast to celebrate, as well as promised them all the chance to get clean in his garage the following day. He even promised to let them use his washing machine for the day.
But really, Generico wanted to see if he could get his siblings something to open.
Even if it was just some stolen limes.
He looked at his baby sister once more as she smiled at him, and gently kissed her on the head.
I love you, Vivi, he thought, as loud as he could in the hopes she could somehow read his mind, and I will give you a hundred more wonderful Christmases.
Vivi smiled broadly and nuzzled into him once more.
It was after the sun had set on them in their alleyway that Generico sat on the nearby step, breathing in the cool night air. His eyes had already adjusted to the dim light, which was good. It allowed him to keep watch while everyone else slept.
But it was when his eyes betrayed him and began to drift shut that he was startled awake by Miguel.
Generico’s head tilted to the side in a question.
“You should sleep,” Miguel told him, holding out a piece of paper, “I can’t. If someone comes, I’ll scream really loud.”
Generico’s heart fell. Miguel needed his sleep, he was so important, but…
He saw the weathered book under Miguel’s arm.
Miguel wanted to read.
He could do both, read and keep alert, he was very good at doing several things at once, but despite the darkness, the streetlamp overhead would give him some light.
But, the piece of paper…
Generico looked at it and, carefully, took it.
“I finished it for you,” Miguel said. “It’s nice. Good poetry.”
Generico was confused but, turning over the paper, he saw the words.
Why does everything hurt
Why did everything fly away
Mamá Papá
How could they leave us
It was the piece of paper he’d been writing on earlier.
And there, at the bottom…
It hurts so much
And it will get better.
Generico felt like he needed to cry.
Carefully. He held out his arms to his brother.
“I love you,” Miguel said softly enough not to wake anyone as he accepted the embrace, “We are going to have so many great Christmases. I promise.”
Generico admired his brother’s optimism.
Maybe, he could borrow it for a bit.
He felt something in him… shift at the thought.
Like a candle had been lit.
It was a tiny flame, the kind that would barely light up a single darkened room, but he could feel it. Glowing. Inside him.
Hope.
HOPE.
Hope for the future.
Hope that his impossible dreams and wishes for his family might come true.
Hope that maybe, if he tried really hard, it would be ok for all of them.
Maybe even a little better than ok.
Maybe they would find a new home someday. A real home, with a roof and running water. Where they didn’t have to sleep on the ground or steal food to survive.
A new life. New lives for all of them. Find a way to live and *thrive*.
The flame got bigger as he focused on its warmth.
True, pure, soul-healing HOPE.
He’d forgotten what that felt like.
Generico pulled back, nodding and wiping away a tear before, zipping his jacket up a little tighter, he moved to the space beside the stoop, and curled up on the pavement.
It wasn't too cold that night. Just enough chill to make it soothing.
He relaxed into the ground the best he could before Miguel moved across the alley and, bending over Solandro, picked up Bear from where he had tumbled, and brought him back to Generico.
“He should have his real dad for tonight,” Miguel explained.
The tears were leaking from Generico’s eyes as he gladly accepted his teddy, curling around him and, resting his head on his arm, relaxed.
It was almost Christmas.
He had a full stomach, a nice cool spot to sleep in, and his Bear in his arms.
All things considered?
It had been a good night.
Generico was startled from his memories by a knock at the door.
Or, rather, what sounded like a kick.
Moving quickly, he got up from the table and, looking through the viewhole, opened the door.
“Hey,” Kevin said, not even bothering with a greeting, or for Generico to clear out from the doorway before he pushed past with his hands full, “You know… living in a gated complex? Great for keeping assholes out. But having to wait by the entrance to get your pizza? Sucks. I’m fucking frozen. Let’s eat.”
Kevin was at the dining table before Generico even had a chance to react… and then stopped as he saw the picture frames sitting on it.
“Uhhh…” Kevin said softly.
Generico just shook his head, moving around Kevin to carefully pick up the two frames and their contents, and putting them safely on a nearby box.
“You know, I didn’t mean to,” Kevin told him, putting the pizzas down. “It just slipped. I tried to catch it, but all I did was bounce it off my knee. Felt great. Really made my day.”
Generico moved beside Kevin, offering an understanding smile.
“I have no clue how the thing didn’t just shatter,” he added, hanging his head in guilt.
Kevin was staring directly at the pizza boxes still in his hands despite being rested on the table, and Generico reached out, tenderly resting his fingers against Kevin’s wrist.
“Kevin,” he told his partner, “Ok.”
“It’s really not – ”
“Kevin,” Generico said again, firmer that time, “OK. Promise.”
Kevin’s eyes met his, just for a moment, and Generico could see the unspoken apology lingering there before, a moment later, it was gone.
“At least I got you a new one,” Kevin said, his voice bright and cheerful in a way that didn’t quite make sense. “I think they’re… vaguely the same. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right?”
Generico’s brows creased.
Kevin was odd sometimes.
The way that his moods would shift suddenly and the tone in his voice changed on a dime. Almost like there were switches in him that would flip back and forth, turning him on and off like a lamp.
He shook it off.
There would be time to try and make sense of Kevin later.
When the pizza wasn’t getting cold.
Generico headed to the kitchen, getting into the cupboard to retrieve the dishes. Except…
His hand stopped in front of the plain white plates on the lower shelf.
No, he thought.
New place. Time to celebrate.
And, reaching to the shelf above, he carefully pulled the brightly colored fiesta wear plates free.
“Wait, we’re using the good dishes?” Kevin asked as Generico put them on the table. “It’s just pizza.”
Generico shook his head fondly.
Kevin could be silly sometimes.
Silly, confusing, strange, grumpy…
But always always HIS.
He would never trade him for anyone.
He gestured at the pizza boxes, motioning for Kevin to open them.
“I guess,” Kevin said, “I mean, I’m starving. This unpacking shit works up an appetite.”
Generico nodded. “Yes.”
Kevin opened the top box, “I still don’t know why the hell you won’t eat pepperoni. You’re Mexican, you’d think you’d love spicy foods.”
Generico just shrugged, pulling a slice of mushroom and extra cheese from the pizza and putting it on his plate before pushing the box closed again.
“Whatever. At least you’re not one of those weirdos who likes pineapple.”
The chuckle that escaped Generico wasn’t intended, but the amount of disgust in Kevin’s voice was amusing. Kevin was silly, but the way his voice would get a funny combination of grumbly and whiny sometimes when he was offended at things that didn’t matter was just adorable.
He loved his Kevin.
All of him.
And he really wouldn’t trade him for anyone or anything in the world.
Kevin, meanwhile, put his slice of extra cheese, sausage, and pepperoni on his plate and sat down.
“Hope this is better than last time. Last time it was— Shit, drinks!” Kevin said abruptly, getting back to his feet and rushing towards the kitchen.
Oh, Generico thought.
Forgot those.
He took a bite of hot, delicious, gooey pizza… and decided to continue to forget for a few more moments.
“Root beer work?” Kevin called from the kitchen, “Or Sprite?”
Generico made the best noise he could to communicate “root beer” while not choking on his pizza.
“I’m gonna pretend that means root beer,” Kevin responded before, a moment later, he returned with a can of root beer, putting it in front of Generico, before sitting down with his own can of Coke.
“How’s the pizza?” he asked.
Generico smiled wordlessly as he took another bite.
“Great.”
Generico finished that bite before cracking open his root beer and taking a swig.
As he did, his thoughts returned to the paper he’d found in his Mamá’s frame.
“Kevin?” he said, wracking his mind for the right words. “Mmm…”
“What’s up?”
“Christmas,” he replied in Spanish before, a moment later, the English came to him. “Christmas.”
“Yeah? Christmas. It’s next month, what about it?”
Generico looked around his new, wonderful apartment, before looking back to Kevin.
“You want to spend it here?” Kevin asked.
Generico nodded.
“But all the stuff is at my place.”
He nodded again.
“Do – do you want to bring all my stuff here?”
He shook his head that time.
“Oh… wait. You want your OWN stuff, don’t you?”
That nod was far more vigorous, with a broad grin attached. It was wonderful when Kevin understood.
“A tree and ornaments and gifts and everything? Here?”
“Yes.”
“I…” Kevin paused, as if to think about it, before replying, “This is a nice place. I guess we could break it in.”
“YES! YES!” Generico exclaimed, his hands waving excitedly.
“Calm down and eat your pizza. Before it gets cold. Before both of ours get cold. We have a month to plan and a place to unpack first. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Don’t get any on the carpet. You’d notice the stains on this one.”
Generico smiled at the remark.
He would notice.
But it didn’t matter.
He would never let anything happen to his new apartment. It was the best place.
Wonderful.
Safe.
HIS.
It had taken so many years to have a place like it. From the alley, to the hotel, to that horrible house, to Montréal-Nord, and finally to a place that was just perfect.
And soon, he would have his very first real Christmas at a place where he could enjoy it.
Ever since…
The memory stuttered his heart as he finally allowed himself to remember.
Since things had gotten hard.
Since things had turned bad.
Since his parents had… died.
The worst word ever for people who never deserved it.
But…
His thoughts traveled once more to the scrap of paper he’d found.
Miguel, so small and so incredibly smart, had been right.
In the end, it had gotten better.
For him, and for all of them.
He was working two jobs, both as a wrestler and at the Centre. With Kevin helping to pay for the day-to-day expenses, there was easily enough to support his family. They’d long since left the hotel behind and moved into apartments of their own.
Miguel had done so well at the library that the other workers paid for him to finish his education, earning him the equivalent of a high school diploma that allowed him the chance to take courses to become a full-fledged librarian. He was getting the best grades in his classes, Generico was certain he’d thrive once he got the position. Michal and Tomás had actually grown up, something that made Generico smile with pride every time he thought of it. Gone were the days of them running around, stealing everything that wasn’t tied down. They’d taken to raising the younger siblings, split between two apartments, but always keeping in touch. They would never truly separate, even if the distance was only linked by a late-night phone call.
And Rosa?
The last time he’d heard from Rosa, she’d found a boyfriend. It was serious. She’d gotten a job as the live-in housekeeper to a single father and they’d gotten… attached. He was a few years older, but he was kind. His wife had died very young, leaving behind a beautiful daughter who would tragically never remember her.
Parents were so… fleeting.
But Rosa.
She’d always been the perfect mamá.
If it worked out with Enrique?
She’d be the best mamá for his daughter as well.
They would have so many great Christmases together, his sister and her family.
Their family.
He would be an uncle!
The thought warmed his heart even more than the piping-hot pizza had warmed his throat.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Kevin asked, glancing over at him.
Generico was beaming, he knew he was.
He couldn’t help it.
Everything was wonderful.
The apartment was wonderful.
Kevin was wonderful.
Carla, his family, Rebecca in Ireland, ALL of them.
The pieces of his heart scattered across the world, but still making him feel so whole.
Everything was wonderful.
The only thing that could make it better, the one thing above all that would make it perfect…
Kevin.
His Kevin.
Seeing him.
But, that was an issue for another day.
“Hey!” Kevin asked again, “You look like you’re on cloud nine. The pizza can’t be that good.”
Generico just closed his eyes, glowing inside with the memories of a hundred perfect Christmases yet to come.
“It’s just,” he said, the English coming to him like magic the way it did when everything felt right…
“It got better.”